


Getting Settled

by Orithain, Rina9294



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Sentinel Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orithain/pseuds/Orithain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina9294/pseuds/Rina9294
Summary: Clint Barton is an Army sniper and sentinel whose tour is up. Phil Coulson is a guide working for SHIELD who brings in new sentinels.





	Getting Settled

_**Fort Campbell KY, 2005** _

The August heat beat down on the Army base, covering the buildings, barracks and concrete pads like an oppressive, wet blanket. The place was steeped in history, the 101st Airborne's legacy hung with citations and ribbons that too often were drenched with the blood of its members. If he had had more time, Phil Coulson would have loved to explore the base, feel the history that surrounded him, but he was here on a mission, and that was his priority.

Clint Barton was a sentinel and a sniper and had done two tours with the Army, fought in many missions and gone on even more scouting trips in the desert that had resulted in the discovery and destruction of terrorist cells. Clint Barton was also Phil's reason for sitting in a thankfully air conditioned office near the base commander's center of operations as the sentinel's commander brought him in.

The sentinel in question stepped into the office, gaze already focussed on the man in the suit. He hadn't been told anything other than to report to this usually empty office. Surprisingly, his senses weren't telling him much about this man. There were no overwhelming scents of horrible aftershave or other products or cigarettes, no telltale marks or stains anywhere to be seen. This was the most put together person Clint had ever seen, and he actually smelled good, clean with the slightest hint of soap even this late in the day and in this heat.

"Clint Barton, sir."

"Sargent Barton, I'm Phil Coulson, it's a pleasure to meet you," Phil said as he stood and moved around the desk to extend his hand. He knew that Barton could see the folder on the desk and read that it was his; the question was, would he ask about it.

"Seems you're interested in me, Mr. Coulson," Clint said with a tilt of his head toward the folder as he shook the man's hand. He catalogued the gun calluses, and his eyebrows rose slightly.

"Well, actually, the organization that I represent is interested in you," Phil replied easily as he drew his hand back, the calm expression never leaving his face. "Would you care to sit, or are you more comfortable standing?"

He'd had sentinels give both answers in the past, and he understood the rationale behind each – if they felt secure in the space, they usually sat; if they wanted to make sure they could reach an exit point easily, they remained standing, and he followed suit. In time though, they all usually sat.

Clint eyed him, well aware that whoever this guy was, he was evaluating every action and word. He sat with a faint smirk. "What, you're not going to offer me a drink too?"

Phil reached down into a drawer he'd stocked earlier in the hour, pulled out a still cold bottle of water and tossed it across the desk, watching Barton's whip fast reflexes as he gauged the action then caught the bottle. "Sorry, that's all I've got right now. I'm here because as a sentinel who is on the verge of leaving the armed forces, we're curious as to whether you've decided what you're going to do once you're a civilian again."

"Not yet. Everyone hasn't come out of the woodwork with their offers yet. Which one are you bringing?" Clint's smirk widened.

"Oh good, we're here first," Phil said, giving the smallest of smiles as he pulled a folder from beneath Barton's service record and slid it toward the other man, turning it so that the grey, stylized eagle on a white circle, the whole on a black background, was visible. "I represent the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"That's one hell of a mouthful. Ever considered changing your name?"

"We get that a lot," Phil said wryly. "We go by SHIELD, and we started during World War Two as the Strategic Science Reserve – Captain America was a member as were the Howling Commandoes – of the SSR I mean, SHIELD was formed in the '50s, and we fight the battles other organizations can’t or won't for whatever reasons."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess if Captain America was part of your organization, I can safely cross enemy combatants off the con list. Got anything for the pro column?"

"Excellent pay and benefits, more freedom than you're used to and less adherence to a strict regime of rules."

Clint laughed. "I see you've actually read my file. Congratulations, Agent Coulson, you're in the running. Now tell me why I should pick you over anyone else."

"We allow you to choose which guide you will work with, and when you're on an operation, while an extraction plan may not always be readily apparent, there will always be one in play. We aren't the fictional IMF; we don’t disavow our agents if they're taken captive."

"I haven't actually given up hope of finding my own guide, you know," Clint pointed out. "And how would it be handled if I did and he or she wasn't part of SHIELD?"

"In that case it's rather like an agent marrying someone – we don’t dictate that though we do require a certain level of secrecy regarding our activities from people who are not in the organization," Phil explained. "We will provide a cover background and position for you to match whatever you choose to tell them in that case."

"So I'd be expected to work with another guide afterward?" Clint frowned. "Not gonna work. If I consider this, I need an out clause if I bond with a non-SHIELD guide."

Phil paused to consider the ultimatum then slowly nodded. "All right, that's acceptable; that or we can discuss contingencies to bring the guide into SHIELD if they're a viable fit."

"That'll work. Now tell me about the sort of missions SHIELD takes."

"They aren’t easy, and they aren't safe, but I will tell you that they will allow you to sleep at night, which is something the other agencies can't promise," Phil said, knowing that Clint could read the truth in his heartrate and breathing.

Clint considered him for a while. "Okay, tell me what 'excellent pay' is in dollars."

Phil settled back in his chair and gave a small smile. "Why don’t you open the folder and you'll see."

After a quick glance in the folder, Clint nodded. "All right then, Agent Coulson, where do I sign?"

Phil's smile grew slightly, and he reached down into the drawer to pull out a multi-page contract which he slid across the desk toward Clint. "Take your time reading through this before you sign, Sargent Barton. And also, if you do, I'll be your transition guide until we find someone who you can work with within the agency."

Clint nodded, his eyes flicking over each page in the folder in a few seconds. After a short time, he signed the contract and pushed it back to Coulson. "That sounds fine. I think we can work together."

"As do I," Phil said as he initialed and dated the signature and slid it into the drawer. "I'll be sending you contact information and details of where you should go once you've been processed out of your current assignment."

Clint's eyebrow rose again. "You can't just tell me?"

Phil chuckled at that. "Six words, Sargent Barton, I hope you like New York."

"Oh thank god, an actual city."

"Much better than the plains or the desert."

"I think I love you." Clint grinned at him.

Phil smirked at that. "You do realize I have that recorded and will pull it up whenever and wherever necessary."

"And now I think I hate you," Clint laughed.

"This sounds like the beginning of a good partnership then."

***

Clint walked into SHIELD headquarters, looking around with interest and cataloguing everything in range of his senses. He walked over to the reception desk, seeing how the people behind it watched him warily. "Hi, I'm Clint Barton. I'm starting here today."

"Mr. Barton, it's good to see you," the dark-haired woman at the desk said neutrally. "Agent Coulson will be down in a moment to see you if you'll have a seat."

"I'll be around here," Clint returned, ambling away from the reception desk to check out more of the public space. If they didn't like it, they could drag him back to a seat. Or try at least.

It was less than three minutes later when Phil exited the brushed steel elevator doors and walked across the lobby, his dark blue suit, white shirt and subtly patterned tie screaming government agent to anyone who might not have known the fact. "Sentinel Barton," He said, greeting Clint with a small smile and an extended hand, "it's good to see you again. I hope the last few weeks have been uneventful."

Clint turned and accepted the hand with a firm shake. "I got really good at ignoring people trying to convince me to re-up. Other than that, it's been quiet, yes." He tilted his head slightly, indicating the lobby. "Nice place you've got here."

"We like it," Phil said as their hands parted, leaving him with the fleetest sense that Barton was calm, relaxed and sure of his decision to be here, all of which boded very well for all of them. He'd brought in sentinels who had last minute regrets over leaving the armed forces, feeling a kind of guilt that they weren't actively serving the village at large any longer. For some, it had taken over a month for him to prove that what they were doing now was just as vital, just as important. "Was Ross getting desperate the closer your final day came?" he asked as he started them walking toward the elevator.

"God, if I didn't know he was straight as a ruler, I'd think the man wanted my ass," Clint snorted. "I was about ready to get a restraining order."

"You're a sentinel; he keeps harping about finding a way to bring back the super soldier program and thinks the key is in your genetics. You’re lucky he didn’t try to throw his daughter at you," Phil mused.

"Oh, he did." Clint smirked. "I told Betty, and I'm pretty sure she's going to make him regret that for the rest of his life."

"Vindictive... I'll remember that," Phil mused as the elevator arrived and he ushered Clint inside. "We'll get through the paperwork first then I can give you a tour of the facilities."

"Paperwork," Clint sighed. "I'm an uneducated backwoods hick who can't read, so I can't do any?" he suggested hopefully.

Phil turned to face Clint fully, his eyebrows rising though his expression remained mild. "I'll have to remember that you're a terrible liar."

"In the service of my country," Clint assured him.

Phil nodded and then looked forward again. "The fact that you read and processed all the information I gave you about SHIELD in a very short period of time and did the same with the contract tells me that you are a very smart man, Sentinel Barton. A very smart man with a very quick mind and that is exactly why we wanted you here."

"And I'm going to have to remember that you're just as smart and nearly as observant as a sentinel," Clint replied. "This is going to be interesting."

"Considering how many I've guided in the past, that's a job requirement," Phil chuckled. "Just as is knowing that given your past, interesting was never a question."

"I'm an interesting sort of guy," Clint agreed, grinning. "Unlike paperwork."

Phil cocked an eyebrow at him at that. "Every time you insult paperwork, it grows exponentially."

Clint snorted. "I always thought that it was like a weeping angel. Every time you look away or blink, it multiplies."

"Exactly, which is why you need to keep control of it while you can."

"A flaming arrow would solve the problem nicely," Clint pointed out, trying not to laugh.

"Not the original one of the paperwork having to be done," Phil answered as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. "So flaming arrows are out of the question in this regard."

"But if the paperwork's ash, no one could ever prove it wasn't completed first."

The corners of Phil’s lips curved up in a faint smile. “I could.”

"That is both terrifying and oddly interesting," Clint mused. "Do you at least provide coffee while I'm dealing with the mountain of paperwork?"

"Terrifying and oddly interesting is how I've been described many times," Phil agreed as he nodded Clint toward an office ahead of them and on the right. "And I can provide as much as coffee as you would like."

"You clearly have no idea how much coffee I can drink." Following Phil's directions, Clint walked into an unremarkable office. The furnishings were typical, though there was a well-stuffed leather couch along one wall that looked very comfortable. Small items personalized the space, particularly the shelf that would be clearly visible when sitting behind the desk. Several items of Captain America memorabilia stood on it, and a framed poster that looked to be vintage occupied the space next to it.

"Original?" Clint asked, moving closer to get a good look at the poster.

"Yes, and I'm sure that you can tell that I'm a bit of a Captain America fanatic," Phil replied. "Oh, and I have enough coffee to cover your needs no matter how great they are."

"Never would have guessed about Captain America," Clint replied dryly. "And I hope you realize I'm going to put that to the test. Be thankful it's not morning. I don't always bother with a cup when the carafe is so much easier."

"Was that humor?" Phil asked dryly though there was the smallest hint of a smile playing around his mouth. "And as I said, I can keep up with whatever you need; the question is, can you say the same regarding the paperwork?" He nodded toward the desk where a pile of forms lay.

Clint stared and groaned. "You are a cruel and sadistic man, Agent Coulson. I'm not fooled by that mild-mannered exterior."

“Obviously your senses are on point if you’ve figured that out,” Phil answered easily. “I never asked you to be fooled by it.”

"Coffee and lots of it," Clint demanded. "That much paperwork requires fuel."

“Hopefully when you find your permanent guide, they will be come with a catering-sized urn.”

"Bigger," Clint informed him. "Or at least two of them so one's always full." He gave Phil a shit-eating grin over his shoulder as he warily approached the stack of paper.

“Well, for now you’ll have to settle for a king-sized carafe that I’ll refill when it gets low.”

"That's assuming that this paper-monster doesn't grow teeth and eat me and solve the problem for you."

“I assure you,” Phil commented as he poured a mug of coffee and set it by the pile before motioning Clint to the chair, “any paper-monsters that SHIELD employs are fully domesticated.”

The cup paused halfway to Clint's lips, and a cautious blue-gray gaze regarded Phil. "Please tell me that you don't actually have paper-monsters here."

Phil quirked a small smile at him at that. "That, Sentinel Barton, is above your clearance level until you fill out that paperwork."

Clint stared at him. "I don't know whether to be more worried about the possibility of actual monsters or the fact that you convincingly made me consider the possibility."

"That fact is what makes me a good agent and guide."

"How is it that you don't have a permanent sentinel?"

"How is it you don’t have a permanent guide?" Phil countered.

"Never found one that fit and could put up with me long term. And you?" Clint turned it right back around on him.

"I'm an easy fit for the new sentinels. Once they're acclimated to SHIELD, they transition to another guide; it's a win-win situation."

"So you just kept matching up with temporary sentinels and never once wanted to keep one? That sounds rough."

"It's my job; why would it be a hardship to settle a sentinel in where he or she would do their best?"

"You can not be for real. It's our nature to want a permanent bond. Even me, and I’m the most solitary sentinel you'll ever meet, I still hope to find _my_ guide."

Phil eyed him closely and tapped the stack of paperwork. "I don’t deny that, but given the statistics, the chance for a sentinel finding their guide is much higher than vice versa."

"You are way too selfless to be a real boy. Is there a guy named Giupetto in a closet somewhere?"

"Right behind me." Phil gave an exaggerated look over his shoulder then reached up to feel his nose. "Look at that, same size it was before."

"Smartass," Clint chuckled. He finally settled himself in the chair in front of the desk and sighed. "Okay, let's start the torture."

"That’s Agent Smartass to you if you want me to keep supplying the coffee," Phil pointed out as he reached into an inner pocket of his suit, pulled out a pen and handed it over.

"Yes, sir, Agent Smartass, sir," Clint replied with a salute before glancing down at the first form. "Seriously? If you guys don't already know all this shit about me, why do you even want me here?"

"Patience is a virtue." As he spoke, Phil poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the chair on the other side of the desk to wait Clint out.

Clint eyed Phil over his own cup of coffee, and after five minutes passed in silence, he finally laughed. "Okay, you win. I'll play nice and fill in the forms. But seriously, while I'm boring myself to tears here, what do you really actually need to know about me?"

"The truth, not that I expect to get it initially," Phil replied. "You're used to saying what people want to hear even though that isn’t what you think. Once we get past that point, then we'll get our first mission."

The sound of the pen moving across the paper was the only break in the silence of the room for some time as Clint pondered that statement while filling in the information already filed in at least dozen different places in the government. "Okay, let's play," he said after completing the third form. "Ask me a question that you think I have a hidden truth for."

"Why did you join the Army?"

"To avoid being sent to prison."

"If you were up on charges of that severity, you wouldn’t have been allowed in the Army," Phil countered.

"The guy I tried to steal from thought there was something worth saving in me, and he turned out to be military. He offered me a choice. Join the army, and make something of myself, or he'd press charges, and I could spend the next few years in jail. I chose option A."

Phil leaned back in his chair, eyeing Clint. "What was it you tried to steal?"

"TV, some stuff I thought I could pawn for cash, a ring he had in a drawer."

"Why did you try to steal it?"

Clint hesitated for a moment. "'Cause Trickshot told me I had to or I'd lose the only real home and job I'd ever known."

Phil studied him for a moment before nodding. "He was wrong, though his forcing you into an act of crime led you to a different home and a different job."

"No, he was right, because he'd have beaten me and left me behind when the circus left town if I hadn't done it. But you're right that it did work out for me. I lost the home and job I had anyway and found a much better one with Sgt. Triplett and the army."

"And considering your recent decision, you'll consider SHIELD the same – though don’t think I haven’t noticed the fact that you aren’t writing," Phil commented as he rose and filled Clint's cup again before walking over to the coffee pot to start a new carafe brewing.

Clint snorted. "You're a slave driver," he accused. "You realize that these are all the same damn form, just with some of the questions reworded, rearranged, or alternated, right? Am I really not supposed to notice that when I'm the one answering them? The three I completed answered all the real questions on all the others."

"Well then, I suppose that you're finished then."

"Ten minutes, not bad," another voice commented from the doorway.

"Very good in fact," Phil mused.

Clint looked from one to the other, one eyebrow arched. "Gee, a test? I'm shocked. Am I supposed to pretend not to recognize you?" he asked the newcomer whose African American heritage, eyepatch and propensity for black leather made him unmistakable to anyone with a high enough security clearance in the espionage or special ops fields.

"And here I thought I was incognito."

"Sentinel Barton, this is Director Fury," Phil cut in easily. "Incognito for him is dressing as the Easter Bunny."

Coffee spewed across the office as Clint choked. When he managed to stop coughing and glared at the other two men, they both gazed back with calm inquisitiveness. Clint was starting to hate that damned eyebrow of Coulson's.

"Please do not traumatize an entire generation of our youth," he growled at them. "Also, what the fuck?"

"Are you saying that I'm traumatizing, Barton?" Fury barked.

"Antarctica mission," Phil murmured to himself before shaking his head.

"Hell yeah," Clint shot back, ignoring Phil's mutter. "But you mean to be, so I don't know why you're bitching."

"Damn right I mean to be, someone has to keep all you jokers in line, and as my best guide seems to have taken a shine to you, he's going to be useless in that regard."

Phil raised both of his eyebrows at that. "When has that ever been an issue?"

Fury just smirked infuriatingly at him, and Clint looked from one to the other. "Why do I feel like there are ten levels of subtext here? And for the record, Agent Coulson has been perfectly normal. No shine seen."

Fury laughed at that. "You have three days to settle in, Barton." He turned and walked out of the office at that, his duster flapping behind him.

"Uh, what?" Clint looked at Phil in confusion. "Was that his version of an intake interview?"

"You've just been tagged by a Nicholas Fury hit and run; you are now officially a member of SHIELD," Phil said solemnly though there was a hint of humor dancing in his eyes.

"This place is so weird." Clint shook his head slightly, but he was smiling. "I guess I'll fit in after all."

"You made the right choice, Specialist Barton," Phil answered, giving him his new title and claiming him as SHIELD's. "We'll do right by you and you'll do right by the world with us."

***

Clint's settling in time was actually five days, and Phil found him on the range, shooting arrow after arrow into a target run out to the far end of the line. "Do you recall how I mentioned Antarctica?" he asked.

Arrows continued to fly into the target as Clint turned his head to regard Phil quizzically, one eyebrow rising. "I know I'm going to regret this, but yes. Why?"

"You'll be happy to know that we aren’t going there, but it's a near miss. We're wheels up in an hour to go to Svalbard, Norway. An eco-terrorist cell has taken over the global seed bank there and is threatening to blow it up. I'll brief you fully on the flight, but we need to preserve the integrity of the building."

Clint paused mid draw and slowly lowered the bow and arrow so he could turn to face Phil fully. "Global seed bank?" he repeated incredulously. "Norway? This is a joke, right? Another test like the forms?"

"Hardly," Phil said mildly. "The Svalbard Global Seed Vault is a secure seed bank on the Norwegian island of Spitsbergen near Longyearbyen in the Arctic Svalbard archipelago. CGIAR started the vault to preserve a wide variety of plant seeds that are duplicate samples, or "spare" copies, of seeds held in gene banks worldwide. The seed vault is an attempt to insure against the loss of seeds in other genebanks during large-scale regional or global crises.

"There are no permanent staff, so there shouldn’t be any hostages. I know that you were cleared on the Quinjet, so get your go bag and gear, and I'll meet you at the flight bay in," he glanced down at his watch, "fifty-three minutes. I'll have food and the appropriate weather gear on board."

Clint retrieved his arrows and made for the exit, shaking his head and muttering about seeds. "So fucking weird," he said over his shoulder.

He kept his go bag ready, so it was less than half an hour before Clint made his way to the Quinjet. He wasn't surprised to see that despite his early arrival, Phil was already there, tablet in hand as he reviewed reports. Or maybe he was playing a game. Nothing would surprise Clint about him.

Phil looked up from the tablet, the small wrinkles around his eyes creasing slightly at his faint smile. "Our flight plan is locked in; it should take four hours or so depending on the weather. At least it's summer, so it won’t be as frigid as in other seasons. Still, we will be near the North Pole, so mild is a relative term."

"Should I be concerned about the reindeer crossing our flight path while they're practicing?" Clint asked wryly.

"Being observant is never a bad idea," Phil replied as he slid his tablet into an interior pocket of his suit jacket and bent to pick up his own bag. "And if you see a large man in a red suit, assume him a friendly, or you won’t get any Christmas presents."

"If he's wearing an eyepatch, I may shoot him in self defense."

Phil chuckled. "I'll take that under advisement."

After a quick grin Clint settled into mission mode as they got on board. "Do we have any information on the terrorists? Any demands, background, guesses about childhood trauma leading to an unrelenting hatred of seeds?"

Phil stowed his case and climbed into the co-pilot seat, buckling himself in as Clint ran through his pre-flight checks. Pulling out his tablet, he flipped through screens though he didn’t need the refresher of the information. "Mark Deiring is the group's leader. He's a former park ranger who has decided that we're killing the earth and need to be stopped. Apparently, he has also decided that the world's governments are hoarding seeds that can benefit the people at the seed vault and wants to distribute them to the people."

"He couldn't just go to a nursery? Seriously, we're talking wheat and corn here, not Einstein's sperm."

"That is at a different seed vault."

Laughter filled the cockpit. "I see I'm going to have to work hard to ever have you at a loss for words. As for Deiring, I suppose you'd rather I didn't kill him?"

"Exactly. You have excellent aim even without your enhanced senses; I'm sure that we can find a way to bring him back."

"If you want a pet, a goldfish would be a lot easier."

"Why would I need a pet? I have sentinels to deal with."

"Cute," Clint snorted. "Why exactly do we want to bring a crazy seed guy back with us?"

"Because killing when we don’t have to makes us no better than the people that we're trying to stop."

That answer made an almost imperceptible tension ease out of Clint. "So no other reason than there's no reason to kill? You keep proving to me that I made the right choice."

"What other reason is there?" Phil asked in return. "I'm not saying that I'm a starry-eyed innocent, but I do believe in giving people a chance to rehabilitate themselves."

"Some people believe in taking the kill shot unless there's a reason not to. It's refreshing to hear it the other way ‘round."

Phil inclined his head in agreement with the comment. “Some people are also idiots.”

"A lot of people, actually," Clint corrected. "It's nice to know someone who isn't."

“If you thought I was an idiot, you wouldn’t have joined SHIELD.”

"Good point, but additional proof is always good." Clint shrugged. "I'd hate to think that the sanity was an aberration."

Phil chuckled quietly and tapped the tablet screen. "Though you did wonder about that when I mentioned the Seed Bank."

"Who wouldn't!" Clint exclaimed. "That's just weird. So very weird." He shook his head. "I'm not even sure stealing seeds really qualifies our cartoon villains as terrorists."

"Say that they get away with it though; what are they going to target next? Eventually someone will get hurt, and that's why we're stopping it before it can get to that point. Hopefully Mr. Deiring can be rehabilitated and his passion turned to productive measures."

"He can be the next Johnny Appleseed," Clint snorted.

"Better Johnny Appleseed than Timothy Mcveigh."

"Great, now I'm imagining a psycho lumberjack with an axe running around the facility."

"The words Paul Bunyan were nowhere in that sentence."

"My brain is a weird and wondrous place," Clint informed him loftily.

"With that being the case, why are you confused as to why Mr. Deiring is attempting to free the seeds?"

"Because I haven't yet gone through the looking glass."

"No, your tactical suit doesn’t resemble a blue and white pinafore in any way," Phil mused. "And now, as we're far enough out, would you care to put the jet on auto-pilot so we can discuss the mission in more detail?"

"It may break my brain if we talk about seed terrorists, but sure," Clint replied easily, doing as Phil suggested.

"It won’t break your brain, and it shouldn't make you zone out," Phil promised as he tapped his tablet again, waiting until Clint had the auto-pilot set to turn in his seat and hand it over. Once Clint had taken it, he reached for a thermos and poured him a travel mug of hot coffee.

"No, I shouldn't zone out unless you make me focus on counting a bin of seeds. And since my name's not Psyche, I think I'm safe." Clint grinned at him over the coffee before making a happy noise once he tasted it.

"Psyche?" Phil asked, sounding confused.

"Okay, so she had to sort seeds as one of her trials, but close enough."

"Ahh, that Psyche, and please don’t explode the seed bins, or we'll both be sorting them for the foreseeable future."

Clint shuddered. "I think I would shoot myself at that point. Remind me to develop a boomerang arrow to do that."

Phil didn’t even bat an eyelash at that. "When we get back to the base, we can talk to R&D about that."

Clint grinned at him. "I love that you think that's a perfectly normal thing to do. My COs all thought I was nuts when I wanted to create special arrows."

"That says something for the single-mindedness of the Army," Phil mused. "Restricting a sentinel from their best weapon is – well, let's just say it isn’t in the best interest."

"Their idea was that I don't miss with guns either, so the bow and arrows was just a weird quirk they didn't have to indulge," Clint said with a shrug. "The military doesn't like outliers."

"No, they don’t, but we would rather have you work with what you were most comfortable with, hence your weapon of choice for this mission."

"It's also a lot quieter so we can take out Johnny Bunyon's friends and still sneak up on him."

"Johnny Bunyan?" Phil asked, a bit of humor coloring his voice. "I see we're going to have to have some time with the history channel once we're done here. Now, shall we look at the facility plans?"

"You prefer Paul Appleseed?" Clint suggested as he leaned in for clear view of the plans.

"I prefer that we concentrate on the op, Sentinel Barton," Phil said sternly though that faint hint of humor still colored his tone. "As far as we know, Diering has five associates with him, and they all were clustered in the main repository. Once we land, we'll check your senses then head for the bank. I have the entry codes here, so we should be able to get in with no issue."

Clint nodded. "Sounds good." He glanced up, meeting Phil's eyes. "But we both know that plans rarely survive engagement."

"Which is why I'm counting on your senses and skills and my knowledge of the situation to get us through it with no fatalities."

"Unless they're more militant than we expect," Clint said. "If they start shooting, I will too."

Phil nodded almost absently at that though his full attention was on Clint. "I certainly hope that you don’t believe I would have an issue with that – or that I won’t be joining in. Attempting to resolve the situation without violence does not include offering yourself up as a sacrifice."

"Glad to hear it since those are usually supposed to be virgin, and that ship sailed a long time ago." Clint grinned at him.

"Though you are good looking enough to distract them for quite a while," Phil mused, appearing to be totally serious in his pondering.

Clint blinked at him. "Are you pimping me out to seed terrorists?"

"Only visually," Phil promised solemnly. "Nothing else would be necessary."

Clint burst into laughter. "I'm going to take that as a compliment and not think about it anymore before I start expecting you to stuff dollar bills in my waist band."

Phil chuckled quietly as he nodded. "It's probably for the best to do that, especially as I don't have any dollar bills in my possession. What I do have is food and more coffee if you want to eat while going over the rest of the briefing."

"That's probably more useful right now," Clint agreed, still grinning. "Besides, I can't give you my best work without a pole."

"I'll remember to requisition one in case the need ever arises," Phil said dead-pan before easing out of his seat and walking to the back of the Quinn Jet to get the food and a second large thermos.

Clint snickered. "I want to see Fury's face when you turn that requisition in. Do you need a hand with that?" he asked belatedly.

"I've got it. We can unpack the food when I get back there."

"I feel like I should be taking care of you, feeding you," Clint admitted. "It's very weird considering that I know just what you're capable of."

“And why should you be taking care of me? You’re the specialist here and I’m the handler; I believe that means I’m the one taking care of you,” Phil responded mildly though there was a hint of humor in his tone.

"You seem to have forgotten that I'm a sentinel," Clint pointed out, matching amusement audible in his voice. "That means I'm wired to take care of everyone, not to mention that you're a guide."

"Which means that I'm wired to take care of everyone as well, just in a slightly different way than a sentinel." Phil walked back to the front of the jet, handing a wrapped bundle of food to Clint and dropping back into the other seat so that he could refill Clint’s mug and pour himself one as well, sealing the tops to keep them from spilling.

Clint had to laugh. "Which means we're likely to trip over each other trying to take care of each other. If someone films it, we could make a fortune." He inhaled the scent of the food and coffee appreciatively, reaching for the mug eagerly.

"Just don’t suggest that to Fury or he'll assign someone to do it."

"Okay, that's just terrifying."

"It just goes to show you that you should never underestimate what he will do or what bets he'll make while doing it; now eat," Phil said, nodding at the food in Clint's lap.

"Sir, yes, sir." Clint half saluted him before turning his attention to unwrapping the roast beef sandwich. "Damn, this is so much better than MREs."

"MREs have their time and place but that isn’t now," Phil agreed, taking a drink from his mug before unwrapping his own sandwich.

"I would be totally okay with never going back to their time and place," Clint assured him before taking another big bite with obvious enjoyment.

"I can’t promise that you'll never have to eat them while on a mission, but I'll try to keep their presence minimal," Phil promised as he tucked into his own food, taking a neat bite before washing it down with a sip of coffee.

"Good. They handle the hunger, but they taste horrible." Clint shuddered. "They need to get a sentinel involved in making them so they're better."

"Bringing your own spices helps them some, though that can get impractical in the field," Phil mused.

"They should just make them better," Clint grumbled. "I'm not the only sentinel who's had to choke them down. I have to dial my sense of taste down to almost nothing to manage it."

Phil nodded at that, balancing his sandwich on his knee while he made a note on his phone with his free hand, making Clint stop eating to stare at him.

"Did you seriously just make a note about improving MREs?" he asked incredulously.

Phil looked up from the phone to meet Clint's gaze. "I can’t promise it will be across the military, but SHIELD does have its own supplies."

"How are you even real?" Clint shook his head slowly, a smile curling his lips.

"It's my job to be real," Phil answered before setting aside his phone and taking another bite of his meal.

Clint snickered. "So your nose doesn't grow if you tell a lie?"

"Your hair is blue." Phil smirked and broke into a bit of song. "Got no strings on me."

Clint stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god, now I know you're insane!"

"I thought that was your belief when I first mentioned seed terrorists."

A snort expressed Clint's opinion eloquently. "I didn't expect you to keep proving it by upping the ante."

"I promise, I'm all business when it comes to work." Phil eyed Clint's sandwich, then the sentinel meaningfully, making him smile wryly.

"You're going to be pushy about me eating when we work together, aren't you?" He shook his head. "And for the record I defy anyone to be completely serious when dealing with _seed terrorists_."

"Are you denying that I was completely serious when we did our mission briefing? And for the record, yes, I will be pushy regarding you eating as I've already noticed that when you're focused on work, you don’t take care of yourself."

"The way this day is going, I'm surprised you're not to make me eat some kind of mixed seeds," Clint said with a snort. "And yes, Agent Coulson, you were disturbingly serious during the briefing."

“If I tried to feed you seeds while we were on this mission, Mark Deiring might really turn homicidal instead of just unbalanced.”

"He might not be the only one," Clint informed Phil wryly. "I'm not actually a bird."

Phil's eyes widened in shock before his lips curved wryly. "Yes, black is a bit understated for a male bird, they tend to have brighter plumage."

"My plumage is definitely purple," Clint assured him. "And I'm a carnivore."

"Purple? I've never heard of a hawk with purple plumage," Phil mused.

"Well, now you've not only heard of one, you've met one. And how the hell did I end up in a conversation where I'm arguing that I'm a bird?" Clint wondered, laughing.

"Hrmm, am I going to have your field uniform redesigned?" Phil asked in return before a soft beep had them both turning their attention to the instruments.

"Half an hour out."

"Hopefully this goes quickly. I'd really rather not have it turn into the sort of mission that I hear about for the next decade." Clint glanced at the files again, refreshing his memory and making sure he hadn't missed anything. Phil disposed of their garbage from their meal and reviewed his own information, checking to see if there were any final updates from SHIELD.

***

"This is really annoying," Clint murmured just loud enough for the transmitter to pick up. "I can hear their heartbeats, but the layout of this place makes it nearly impossible to follow the sound back to them."

"The sensors say they're ahead and to the left. According to the schematics, that's the room that houses the main storage bank; there's a catwalk that surrounds the perimeter." The last was an offer as Phil knew that Clint had studied the schematics as well and could pick his vantage spot.

"You know what I like already," Clint mock purred, heading for the catwalk. "I think they're all clustered together in that one location," he added. "Seriously, criminal standards are slipping."

"Remember, they're eco-terrorists, not cut-throat criminals; they do have a different guidebook. There should be a door to a stairwell on the right; that will get you up to the catwalk."

Following Phil's instruction, Clint quickly made his way to the catwalk and crouched down in the shadows with a good view of the so-called terrorists. He had to shake his head. "They're sitting around eating some vegan looking stuff. It looks like a tea party."

"Can you hear what they're saying?"

"Three of them are talking about some logging company, and two are talking about 'freeing the seeds.' I think he wants to get in a chopper and toss them out or something. What an idiot."

"I have to agree," Phil murmured. "If nothing else, they will be charged with breaking and entering, so the easiest path may be to simply tranquilize them and contact the Norwegian authorities."

"I think I'd feel like I was kicking puppies if I did more than knock them out," Clint agreed. "They need a life, not anything lethal."

"My thoughts exactly. Take the shot when you have it."

Clint sighed. "Fish in a barrel." There was a brief pause, then Clint confirmed that all of the eco-terrorists had been hit with tranquilizer darts. "Anyone could have handled this," he grumbled, swinging down from the catwalk. "Why did they think they needed a sentinel?"

"Perhaps to see how you would handle being assigned out of the box assignments?" Phil suggested. "Seed terrorists certainly aren’t on the military's normal agenda."

“I don’t think they’re on anyone’s normal agenda,” Clint pointed out. “I really, really want to stomp on them,” he grumbled, scowling down at the unconscious so-called terrorists.

"That would cause more paperwork when we got back to base," Phil pointed out. "I've radioed for a clean-up team and am coming your way so that we can get them secured. One that's done, you can take a tour of the bank if you'd like."

There was a long moment of utter silence before Clint demanded, “Why the fuck would I want to tour a seed bank? I’ve seen seeds before.”

"The seeds shouldn’t be lying about," Phil answered. "And as for why, you never know when you might see something interesting."

“What the hell do you think I could see in a seed bank? Rows and rows full of teeny tiny drawers of seeds. Ooh boy, be still my heart.”

"No interest in seeing ancient versions of your favorite flowers?" Now a hint of humor was audible in Phil's voice.

“First, unless someone’s been saving these seeds for a lot longer than I think or has a TARDIS in their back yard, how are they going to have ancient versions? And even if they did, how would looking at the drawer—which contains seeds, not flowers—help me see them?” Corresponding amusement filled Clint’s tone as he debated with Phil.

"Ancient is a relative term; it would be more precise to say unaltered. And as to how to see things, use your imagination, Sentinel Barton, I know you have one." Phil entered the control room where all the unconscious activists lay and glanced from them to Clint, looking satisfied and pleased.

“Guide Coulson, I seriously wonder about you.” Clint leaned against the wall, eyeing Phil. “Do you often fantasize about flowers?”

"Fields of sunflowers waving in the late summer breeze, they're an awe-inspiring sight."

Clint didn’t miss a beat. “Personally I think fields of crocuses are a lot prettier.”

"For the scent or the color?" As he spoke, Phil stooped next to one of the unconscious activists and zip-tied their hands and feet.

“Color of course. Purple’s great.” Clint eyed the people on the floor, clearly still thinking they could use a good, swift kick.

"Visual seems to be your sense of choice," Phil murmured as he moved to the next unconscious activist. "Though that makes sense given your accuracy."

“Yeah, my hearing’s actually my weakest sense,” Clint told him.

Phil nodded as he continued to move among the unconscious men and women, pausing beside their leader and looking back at Clint. "A result of the injuries you sustained in your youth.” There was more to the story than that, but though he had read the files, it was Clint's to tell.

Clint glanced at Phil from the corner of his eye. “Impressive blandness, Agent Coulson. You obviously read my file, so you know about my family and Carson’s.”

"Yes, but what's in the files isn’t the whole story of your life, just the bare facts. If you tell me anything beyond what's in your records is your choice."

“Are you sure you’re a spook?” Clint asked dryly. “That’s not really the attitude I’m used to from when I worked with alphabet agencies in the past.”

"I'm a guide, and until you're reassigned, I'm your guide, so yes, that is the attitude you're going to get from me. You're more than your record, Sentinel Barton, more than your past."

“You’re a very interesting man,” Clint mused. “For the record, it’s fine to refer to what’s in my file. It’s real and it saves time.”

"And if we were in a situation where time was of the essence, I would be more succinct, but as we aren't, I'd rather hear what you have to say."

Clint eyed him. “My dad was an abusive alcoholic who crashed the car killing himself and my mother. My brother and I ended up in an orphanage. That sucked, so we ran away when a circus came through town. The marksman mentored me, which involved beating me when I missed. After I refused to help him stage robberies, he beat me and left me for dead in a ditch. That sucked too.”

Phil straightened up from where he'd been restraining Deiring and turned his attention wholly to Clint. "Your past is part of you, but it doesn’t define you; you've proved that time and again with the Army, and you continue to prove it here, with SHIELD. You are an exemplary sentinel, and any guide would be proud to be paired with you."

“That’s why I’ve never bonded with any of the dozens I’ve worked with on missions?”

"True pairing isn’t that common an occurrence," Phil pointed out, though his tone was gentle. "We have many guides on staff; you can rotate through them until you find someone you're comfortable with."

“Oh joy. Can I stay and play with the wanna-be terrorists instead? I could hug some seed packets.”

"Would it help if I tell you that you won’t start rotating until you're ready, or will the idea of more missions with me as your guide send you running for the seeds?"

“Naw, you’re not seedy.”

"And I haven’t gone to seed as of yet, so I think we're good."

Clint laughed. “I can put up with you if you can put up with me. Honestly, it would be nice not to have to adjust my senses to a new guide every mission. That makes it harder.”

Phil nodded again. "As long as it takes."

“Careful, Agent Coulson, or we may be heading into retirement together,” Clint chuckled. “Most guides would tell you I’m a taste that’s impossible to acquire.”

"Obviously the Army's guides have issues regarding their pairing then."

“Most guides expect a sentinel who follows rules, not one who does what he thinks is right regardless of regulations.”

Phil's eyebrows ticked up at that. "Obviously the Army and SHIELD have different opinions regarding this situation."

Clint looked at him, stepping over a neatly bound eco-terrorist to move to Phil’s side. “That’s good to hear. Maybe I won’t have to ignore quite so many orders.”

"Given as for the current future the orders would be coming from me, I do appreciate that fact."

Clint grinned. “But do you listen to real-time input?”

"Real-time input is always appreciated and taken into consideration."

“Okay, you’re unique. I’m keeping you.”

Phil chuckled quietly as he walked over to the master control board, scanning the readings to assure himself that the controls hadn’t been tampered with. "And I'm sure that you'll find all of the guides at SHIELD share a similar mindset."

The snort from Clint was eloquent of his opinion of the likelihood of that. “I’ll keep score and let you see the results. Ten bucks says I’m right.”

"Just ten bucks? All right."

Clint eyed him, looking amused. “Why do I think not a lot of people bet against you?”

"You've met Jasper Sitwell, correct?" Phil asked, glancing back at Clint and seeing him nod. "Ask him about Grenada."

“Interesting. But if you don’t mind, I’ll just keep avoiding him. I get a weird vibe off him,” Clint said with a slight frown, remembering the first time he’d met the other SHIELD agent.

Phil's brow furrowed slightly at that before smoothing again. "Then obviously he won’t be one of the guides we try you with once we finish your settling in time."

Clint sighed. “Can we just forget about that for a while? The thought of another round of guides just makes me tired.”

"And as we've just accomplished our first mission, I'd rather you were feeling accomplished even if it was a relatively straight-forward one."

“Agent-Guide Coulson, sir, this was a joke, not a mission,” Clint snorted. “I’m pretty sure the Keystone Cops could have taken these jokers down.”

Phil looked back at the control board, and his face settled into a more neutral expression. "Hrmm, possibly not."

“That can’t be good.” Clint turned to follow Phil’s gaze, but he didn’t know what he was looking at. “And why do you say that?”

"Our activist friends seem to have started a catastrophic failure in the containment system, probably designed to release the seeds into the atmosphere and allow them to spread across the continents." As he spoke, Phil worked on entering commands into the system, each as ineffective as the last.

“Messy, but hardly catastrophic,” Clint pointed out. “Even if we don’t manage to stop it, at worst they need to replace the seeds here.”

"And the fact that the facility will implode once the seeds have been released?"

“Ah. This place is probably pretty expensive to replace, huh?” Clint eyed the board. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

"Of course. There's the possibility that you can cut the communications with the computer system if I can’t override the program itself."

With a short nod Clint moved to another section of the controls and began trying to do just that. “Just out of curiosity, how long do we have till this place implodes with us in it?”

"Fifteen minutes. If by ten we haven’t stopped it, I want you to get the activists out of here; I've already warned off the clean-up crew."

Clint spun to scowl at the other agent. “Like fuck I’m leaving you here. We came in together; we go out together. So let’s get this thing stopped because I’m too hot to die.”

Phil smiled at that though his full attention stayed on the console. "Yes, you are. The section in the schematics you need is in 4B. If we haven’t broken the connection this way in the next three minutes, I need you to try the physical route."

“This better not be you trying to get me out of here without you,” Clint warned. “Because I’ll come back in after you. And if you do die, I’ll find someone to bring you back so I can make your life a living hell.”

"I believe that you would do it. No, I'm not trying to get you out of here; I'd like you to use your senses to track down the correct wiring and sever it."

It took twelve of the remaining fourteen minutes, but with Phil’s coaching Clint managed to find right wires and cut them. “Go us. Only on TV do they go down to the last fraction of a second,” Clint said with a smirk.

"Excellent work, Sentinel," Phil said, obvious pride ringing in his voice. "And excellent use of your senses catching that micro-imprinting on the cables. I owe you a cup of coffee when we get back."

“Mmm, coffee.” Clint sighed and regarded the unconscious group with disfavor. “I guess they really are terrorists. Which sucks because I’ll bet averted implosions generate a lot more paperwork than hugging seeds.”

"Less actually," Phil mused. "We deal with the former more than the latter. The clean-up team will be here in fifteen; once they're here and settled, we can head out."

“Oh, thank god. I prefer tropical destinations for vacations. No ice hotels for me.”

"Thankfully it's the wrong season for that though for myself I find the furs on the beds most comfortable," Phil mused.

Clint stared at him silently. And then he blinked slowly. Twice. “Um, okay, sure. Furs are good,” he said sounding dazed.

"And quite warm," Phil nodded before looking at Clint closely. "Are you feeling all right, Sentinel?"

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.” Clint gave himself a mental shake and shut the last minute away to consider some other time when he was alone. “Sorry, just thinking about the ice hotel. Which isn’t here, so no ice. To put the terrorists on. So we don’t have worry about frostbite.” He snapped his mouth shut and ordered himself to stop babbling.

Phil looked at him closely before nodding. "I think that there's more coffee in the Quinjet; it sounds as if you need it."

“I always need coffee. There is no circumstance where I wouldn’t want coffee. In fact, I want coffee now.”

"Coffee after the clean-up team arrives," Phil countered.

Clint looked sad. “I hope they hurry. Should we gather up the litter?” he asked, nodding toward the terrorists.

"I think that we can leave them where they're lying; terrorism doesn’t lead to comfort," Phil mused. "At least for those committing the acts."

“I like the way you think. Wanna play cards while we’re waiting?”

***

“Hey, bossman. Hill said you wanted to talk to me?” Clint dropped onto Phil’s couch, sprawling comfortably.

Phil was already reaching for the coffee carafe and pouring a cup for Clint before he was settled, pushing it across the desk to him before refilling his own mug. This was a topic that was a normal part of a sentinel's experience at SHIELD, but he was reluctant to let his time as Clint's guide end. Still, duty was duty.

"It's been three months since you came over to SHIELD; I'm hoping that you've been enjoying your time here," he began.

“Sure. The missions are mostly weird, but we work well together. It’s actually mostly been fun.” Clint grinned at him. “Should be interesting to see what we get next.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Phil leaned his forearms on the desk. "Yes, I look forward to reading the reports from it as I won’t be there with you. You've settled in here wonderfully, Sentinel Barton, so it's time for you to start working with the other guides."

Clint stilled before swinging his feet back to the floor and standing up. “I see. Well, sorry I bothered you,” he said stiffly, already heading for the door.

"Clint," Phil called, surging to his feet. "It isn’t a choice. I'm the guide who settles new sentinels in here; my personal preferences don’t matter in this regard."

“Sure, I get it. See you around.” Clint didn’t slow, clearly intent on making his escape.

"Damnit, Clint, you need a chance to find your guide!"

“Oh, fuck you very much.” Clint all but wrenched the door open, causing Phil to force himself from surging around the desk to stop him.

"Think what you like, but this isn’t my choice," he said quietly, which actually did make Clint pause to scowl over his shoulder.

“Yeah, right. You’re just the latest in a long line of people who want nothing to do with me, and you’ll be followed by however many guides SHIELD throws at me before giving up,” he said bitterly. “You don’t need to sugar coat it.”

"Giving up? The guides here will be lucky to be paired with you. Do you know how many requests I have to work with you?" Phil demanded. "I wanted to talk to you about who you would prefer; you are most certainly not going to be thrown around from one to another!"

“It obviously doesn’t matter what I want, or we wouldn’t even be talking about this,” Clint snapped, but he did turn around and shut the door again. “We work great together, so why the hell would I want to work with someone else? I don’t expect a permanent pairing since I don’t mesh with anyone, but why break up a working pair?”

Phil took a deep breath to calm himself, relieved that Clint seemed to at least be willing to listen to him, his own emotions calming as the sentinel's did. "Because you need to be able to work with the other guides we have, Clint," he said, keeping his voice level. "I'm sorry that I didn’t present it in the best way, but I can only blame myself for that."

Clint sighed heavily. “I don’t want to work with other guides, Phil. I can. Trust me, the Army made sure I can work with anyone if I have. But I don’t want to.”

"I understand that," Phil said as he reached out to rest a hand on Clint's shoulder. "But there are times when what we want isn't the most important thing. We have to deal with the jobs we're given."

“Maybe I could train cadets,” Clint suggested, grasping at straws.

"While you would be wonderful at it, you also have a skillset that is much more suited to the field."

The door slammed open, and Nick Fury filled the doorway, glaring at them both. "If the two of you are done being middle school girls, can we get on with this?"

Clint looked sulky. “This sucks and you suck too for splitting up a team that works.”

Fury growled. "I've got a new sentinel coming in, and I need my best guide ready to get them settled. What I don’t need is a fully functional sentinel having a hissy fit over losing his favorite toy!"

Phil narrowed his eyes as he looked at his boss. "Clint is not having a hissy fit; he's justifiably concerned."

“Is it too late for me to change my mind and go back to the Army?” Clint growled, glaring at Fury as if he wanted to shoot him full of arrows.

"You retired, deal with it," Fury snapped.

Phil drew in a deep breath, calming himself before the situation escalated. "And Clint is an amazing asset who we don’t want to lose. Clint, you've met Agent Woo, you get along with him, right?"

Clint scowled at them both but reluctantly nodded. “Sure, fine, I’ll go on a playdate with Woo.”

***

“Barton’s insane! He gets the job done, but he doesn’t listen to orders. I can’t work with him!”

Agent Woo was assigned to another sentinel.

***

“That insubordinate jackass should be sent back to the damn Army!”

Agent Kleinfeldt was reassigned to Nebraska.

 

***

“Barton needs to be sent to the academy for training in SHIELD protocol!”

Agent Ramirez was much happier after being transferred to Norway.

***

“I’m going to shove one of his fucking arrows up his goddamned ass!”

Former Agent Hatfield got rich when he joined his father’s moonshine business.

***

“That motherfucker won’t work with anyone except you!” Fury growled at Phil. “He gets the motherfucking mission done, and I lose another guide every motherfucking time!”

"And this is my problem why?" Phil asked, biting back his immediate need to defend Clint and his choices.

“You trained the motherfucker. Go tell him to fucking play nice with other fucking guides!”

"Your use of fuck every other word may intimidate other agents but not me," Phil snarled. "Sentinel Barton was an exemplary asset during our time together; I have no reason to believe that he wouldn’t be the same with any other guide."

“Then why have am I down four guides, one of them completely retired, after I’ve sent him on four missions?!”

"Because they obviously have forgotten their training? Guides are here to support sentinels in their goals, not force them into narrow parameters that cause them to fail on their missions!"

“I’m not rewarding that bastard with what he wants for driving guides out of here!” Nick growled. “He’s going to work with other guides if I have to handcuff them together!”

"So you’re going to drive a highly trained sentinel out of here instead?"

“Fine! You want him? He’s yours! Do something with him!” Nick stalked out the office, his coat swirling dramatically behind him.

***

Phil sighed and picked up his coffee cup, swirling the cooling dregs of his drink around as if they would give him the answers to the universe. The SHIELD cafeteria was quiet as it was early in the morning, but the agent across from him looked alert and ready for action.

"You're beating yourself up, and that’s affecting both of you. He doesn’t work well with any other guide, and even though you've brought Morse in with no problems, I can see that your heart wasn't in it."

Phil sighed and swirled his coffee again. "I enjoy working with him, Melinda. It feels right."

“So stop being a self-sacrificing idiot and do what you both want. Request a permanent partnership with Barton.”

"He needs a chance to find his guide, damnit!" Phil's voice rose until he saw others in the cafeteria looking at them, and he cleared his throat. "I simply want him to be happy."

Melinda regarded him pityingly. “Phil, has it ever occurred to you that you’re attuned to his needs and emotions to an unusual degree, and he doesn’t respond to anyone by you? Maybe he already has found his guide.”

Phil opened his mouth then closed it, his throat working as he swallowed. "Are you saying that we bonded, and neither of us noticed it?"

“I didn’t say you were particularly self-aware.”

Phil's eyebrows rose. "Remind me why I gave you and Andrew a trip for your wedding present."

“Because you’re too nice for your own good, and Andrew’s a nice guy.” Melinda smirked at him.

Phil raised his head enough to meet her gaze and raised his eyebrows. "I would say fuck you if what you said didn’t make so much sense."

Her smirk grew. “Now go get your sentinel, and then you get the joy of telling Director Fury.”

"Perhaps I'll get my sentinel and let you explain everything to Nick."

“I can and will shoot you.”

"You do realize that will lead to several people pouting at you."

Melinda chuckled. “In the leg. Just a through and through.”

"That would still lead to Nick pouting at you."

“I’d be more concerned about Barton than Fury. The Director wouldn’t lower himself to pout at me. You and sometimes Hill are the only ones who have to deal with that.”

Phil glowered at her at that, and Melinda toasted him with her coffee cup.

“You were the one who decided to become his friend. As they say, you reap what you sow.”

"I am his friend; are you saying there's something wrong with this?"

“You tell me. Actually, don’t bother. Go talk to Barton instead.”

"Go have dinner with Andrew so I don’t have to deal with your advice," Phil growled.

“You’re going to hear it again tomorrow if you haven’t talked to Barton by then.” Melinda smiled sweetly at him before she left.

***

"Hey, Barton, Coulson wants to see you,” Bobbi Morse called as she walked into the gym.

“Thanks.” Clint disengaged from the other agent he was sparring with, giving him a nod of thanks before slinging his towel around his shoulders and heading up to Phil’s office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Clint fell into parade rest in front of Phil’s desk, keeping his gaze on the senior agent.

Phil opened his mouth and found himself at a loss for words. "Care for some coffee?"

One of Clint’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he relaxed into a slightly less rigid posture. “That would be good, thank you, sir.”

Phil poured a fresh mug of coffee before refreshing his own and wrapping his hand around the cup. "I understand that your work has been going well."

“Really? Small talk?” Clint walked over to grab the cup and finally sat down in the chair in front of Phil’s desk, although he kept a conspicuous distance from the sofa he’d all but claimed as his own when he was teamed with Phil.

"Would you prefer me to take things to a more personal level?" Phil asked.

“I’d prefer you to tell me why I’m here. You were very clear last time I was here that we weren’t working together anymore.”

"And does that make you as miserable as it makes me?"

“I—yes. Yes, it does.”

Phil nodded at that. "It was pointed out to me that despite the small percentage of bonds between sentinels and guides, the fact that we are both miserable in our current situation points to the fact that you and I are highly compatible, as does the fact that I haven’t felt as comfortable with anyone as I do with you."

Clint’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Phil, apparently incapable of speech.

"You also have my apologies for not realizing what was happening between us."

“We’re bonded?” Clint sounded stunned.

"It's something I never expected, but the fact that it’s with you is something I never would have let myself hope for."

“So… you want this?”

"Of course I do, nothing has ever felt more right than working with you," Phil answered truthfully.

“Um, Phil, I’m pretty sure bonding is supposed to be about more than just work,” Clint said hesitantly. Working with Phil was more than he had hoped for recently, but if they were really bonded, he needed to know if work was all Phil wanted.

"It is," Phil agreed. "What I feel involves more than just working together, but I certainly don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. Bonding has to involve both the guide and the sentinel."

Clint slouched in the chair, relaxing. “Phil, I want a full bond. Now that you’ve pointed it out to me, I’m realizing that much of my trouble with other guides has been that I already grounded some of my senses on you.”

Phil let out the breath he didn’t know that he'd been holding and leaned back into his chair. "I think we need to take this somewhere other than headquarters to discuss because I believe that this needs somewhere more private than here."

“That sounds really good to me,” Clint agreed. “So, do we need to wait till this evening, or can we go now?”

The phone on Phil's desk rang at that moment, and Phil glared at it before holding up a finger to Clint as he picked it up. "Now is not the time–" he began before Nick Fury's voice over-rode his words.

"Both of you get your asses out of here for as long as it takes to deal with this shit. Just don’t take longer than two days because I am tired of two of my best operatives being fucking idiots!"

Despite having used a cell phone, Fury made it sound as if he slammed a handset down, cutting off the call. "Well," Phil said mildly as he looked over at Clint, who had heard every word. "Apparently we have been told. Do you want to find a coffee shop or go somewhere more private to talk about this?"

After only a moment’s hesitation Clint decided that private would be better. “My apartment’s tiny, but we could go there if you want,” he offered, not wanting to push into Phil’s home if he wasn’t comfortable with that.

"What would make you more comfortable?" Phil asked in return. "I have no issue with going to your place or you coming to mine; a bond does somewhat mean that were going to be living in each other's pockets so I have nothing to hide."

“Yours would be good. I like being in spaces that are yours, like your office.” Clint’s eyes widened fractionally as the realization hit him. “Hell, I’d been glutting my senses on you all along.”

Phil filed that bit of information as he stood and slipped his phone into his pants pocket then walked around his desk, holding out his hand in an invitation that felt totally right. "Then let's go, I think we both need some time to let this settle and get used to it. Right now, all I've got is your emotions rubbing against mine, and it's very distracting–in a good way."

“That sounds really kinky,” Clint observed as he put his hand in Phil’s. A visceral sense of satisfaction filled him when Phil’s fingers curled around his, and a small, logical portion of his brain wondered if he was ever going to be able to make himself let go. “We really need to get somewhere private because I’m getting some very primal instincts demanding that I fill my senses with you.”

"It will take about fifteen minutes to get to my place." Forcing himself to be logical in the face of the secondary emotions that were flooding him and his own innate need to want to keep hold of the younger man, Phil focused on the most immediate task. "My car is on the third parking level, or we can take a taxi or have another agent drive us. I'm leaning toward the third option if you agree with it."

Clint nodded emphatically. “But does that mean I have to keep my hands off you till we get there?” he asked almost pathetically.

"That's the point of having someone else drive us; neither of us have to focus on anything except each other," Phil promised.

“I figured, but I wasn’t sure if Agent Coulson wanted to keep a public distance,” Clint explained. “I know you have a reputation around here.”

"Agent Coulson is more importantly Guide Coulson, and if anyone has a problem over him and his sentinel touching each other, it will more than likely be because they're jealous that they've found each other," Phil corrected him gently. "Now will having Agent May drive us be an issue? I only ask because she's another sentinel."

“No, as long as she doesn’t touch you. Or get too close,” Clint added after a moment’s consideration. “Until we’re fully bonded, and probably even after,” he admitted with a faint quirk of a smile, “I won’t react well to another sentinel encroaching on what’s mine.” The last was faintly apologetic, but Phil needed to know how Clint was reacting because the sentinel was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to control it.

Phil tightened his fingers around Clint's and nodded. "We'll make sure they know to stay away until we're settled, and so you know, I've never heard anything so right as you saying that I'm yours; it fit inside me perfectly–just don’t forget that means that you're mine as well though."

The words actually made Clint shiver and his eyes fall half closed. “Fuck yeah,” he rasped. After a moment a throaty chuckle escaped him. “How the hell did we not realize this was going on?”

A slim, dark-haired Asian woman turned the corner ahead of them and approached them, stopping far enough away so as not to appear threatening to Clint. "Fury said the two of you would need a ride–and congratulations, Andrew and I will send a fruit basket when you come up for air."

Clint managed a smile for her even as his grip tightened on Phil. “Thanks. I’m not sure if this going to be easier or harder for having a partial bond for so long.”

"Considering that Phil doesn’t do anything less than perfectly and you’re the most stubborn man I've ever met, I would bet on easier," Melinda chuckled, causing Phil to scowl at her before shaking his head as he took in her meaning.

"Either way, can you get us to my place so we can let Clint do what his instincts are telling him to do."

Since no one wanted that to happen in the corridor or to see what would happen if someone interrupted Clint, they moved along to the car. Clint initially settled on one side, but it only took a moment for him to move across to plaster himself against Phil. He tucked his head into the curve of Phil’s shoulder, inhaling his scent.

As she steered the sedan out onto the street, Melinda looked up into the rearview mirror. "The two of you are adorable."

"I still have pictures from your wedding," Phil threatened.

At the same instant, Clint exclaimed in revulsion, “I have never been adorable in my life.”

"But you are at this moment. Don’t worry, I won’t take a picture," Melinda promised.

“I think I hate you,” Clint grumbled. He pressed closer to Phil, practically crawling into his lap.

"Behave, both of you," Phil stated before shifting enough so that Clint could move to where he wanted to be, namely in his lap and plastered as closely to him as he could be.

“Mmm, smell good,” Clint murmured before dragging his tongue over Phil’s throat. “Taste good too.”

Phil sucked in a quick breath at the sensation and the rough, velvety sound of Clint's voice, the combination obviously having a physical effect on him. Thankfully Melinda chose that moment to become official once again as she ignored them for the rest of the drive–probably out of pity.

When they reached Phil’s home, Clint reluctantly peeled himself off Phil just long enough for them to get out of the car. Once on the street, he pressed close again, impersonating a remora as they moved inside after a brief farewell to Melinda.

Inside Phil’s apartment, Clint looked around curiously with an expression of contentment on his face. “It feels like you.”

"Hopefully it will feel like us in the future," Phil murmured, keeping his arms around Clint's waist as he let the other man study the space as long as he wanted, all of which made Clint smile happily at him.

“I like the sound of that,” he admitted, finally able to let go of Phil now that he was surrounded by his guide’s scent and belongings, though he still remained close, not wanting Phil to let go of him.

"So do I, it feels right. This has always just been a place to come to after work, but with the two of us it would feel like home."

Clint had to kiss him for that.

“I really want to just pounce on you and never let you go.”

Phil wet his lower lip and met Clint's gaze squarely. "I think right now we should do what we want; given our situation, it has to be the right thing."

Never looking away from the blue of Phil’s eyes, Clint started to undress him. His nostrils flared as Phil was slowly bared, and his fingers stroked over each inch. He learned the shape of his guide, the firm muscles beneath soft skin and silky hair broken by occasional scars that he had to taste.

Moving carefully, Phil toed out of his shoes, wanting to make Clint's exploration as easy as possible. Warm tranquility spread through him, a sense of well-being that transcended anything he had felt in his lifetime. How could he not have noticed this when they first worked together, this perfect fit, this total meshing with his sentinel?

It was impossible not to react physically to Clint's explorations, and his cock twitched at the brush of Clint's sleeve in passing. "You're wearing a lot," he whispered, not wanting to disturb Clint's mapping of his body but making the offer for more flesh on flesh.

Clint raised his head to meet Phil’s gaze again, his tongue trailing languidly over a scar on Phil’s forearm. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he murmured. With Phil’s permission, he reached for his belt, undoing it and then pulling his shirt over his head.

"Clint, I can feel the majority of what you’re feeling right now," Phil rasped, watching avidly as Clint stripped off his own clothing. "Uncomfortable is the farthest thing possible from my mind."

That drew a throaty chuckle from Clint. “In that case, I can only say we’ve both been idiots. And we have a lot of wasted time to make up for. I am going to taste every inch of you.”

"Then perhaps we should go into the bedroom? That might be more comfortable than the living room floor."

Phil didn’t have to tell him twice. Clint drew him down the hall toward the room that smelled most strongly of his guide, assuming that would be Phil’s bedroom. Once they were there, Phil pulled Clint back to him, giving in to his need to cover Clint's mouth with his and taste him.

The first kiss turned into another, and then another, and the next thing Clint knew, he was sprawled on top of Phil on the bed, their legs tangled together as they rocked together. He pulled himself away from Phil’s mouth to explore more of the lean body laid out for him.

"Do all you want, but I have to warn you at some time it may lead to something of a mess," Phil rasped as he arched up beneath him.

“I did say I wanted to taste all of you,” Clint purred.

"What about how we taste together?" Phil asked, dragging his hands down Clint's back to feel the swell of his ass.

“Mmm, that’ll be good too,” Clint decided. “We smell good together. You’re starting to smell like me too, so other sentinels will know to keep away.”

Phil's logical mind wanted to comment that none were coming near him, but the part that was pure Guide, that was Clint's guide, reveled in what was essentially a claiming.

“Mine,” Clint growled, sliding down to nuzzle Phil’s cock and saturate his sense of smell in the musk of him.

"Always," Phil rasped as his fingers slid through Clint's hair, the short strands tickling his flesh as Clint's breath gusted over his groin. "Locked together, stupid for not noticing it before, for letting you go."

“It was both of us. Just never expected a bond, never thought you’d be mine.” Clint’s fingers gripped Phil’s hips, holding him still as Clint lazily licked the head of Phil’s cock, exploring him while filling all five senses.

A high-pitched whine escaped Phil's lips, and he tightened his hold on the short strands of Clint's hair. "Never letting you go now."

“You’ll never get the chance,” Clint said, smirking up at him before closing his mouth over the tip and sucking.

"Feel so good; your mouth, the ghost of your emotions, not going to last long…"

Clint pulled up to say, “Good, I wanna taste you. Wanna taste you and have you taste me, feel you and smell you and know everything about you.”

"Do it," Phil gasped. "Suck me then let me suck you."

Clint actually whimpered before he sucked Phil down, not teasing any longer.

Phil's breath left him in a sudden gust, and his whole body tightened in a swift, all-consuming spasm as pleasure over-ran him, driving what few coherent thoughts remained in his brain out of it.

Clint drank him down eagerly, groaning with pleasure at the taste of him. He continued suckling until the last spasm had passed, only pulling off when he knew continuing would be more pain than pleasure for Phil. Then he surged upward to take Phil’s mouth in a possessive kiss.

The kiss and the taste of Clint and himself combined drew a shiver from Phil, and he chased after Clint's mouth when he pulled back, finally dropping back onto the mattress when there was no chance of reaching Clint's lips. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared up at the younger man, feeling the roll of arousal that moved through him. "Your turn?" he asked, his voice sounding foreign to his ears.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Clint whispered. He rocked his hips, his erection sliding along the groove of Phil’s hip, and he groaned.

"That would most anything, but considering I said I would suck you..." Phil had recovered enough of his coordination to flip them over, nipping the line of Clint's chin before making his way down his body, giving it just as thorough an exploration as Clint had given his.

“Oh god,” Clint moaned. One hand gripped Phil’s shoulder, and the other combed through his hair, clutching it as Clint shivered beneath him.

Phil's lips curved into a smile at the response and he licked at the hollow next to Clint's hip bone before giving in and fastening his mouth on the thin skin, sucking a bruise into existence.

“Oh fuck yeah.” Clint raised his head to watch, his cock jumping when he saw the mark Phil left on him.

"Like I said, you're mine as well," Phil said, meeting Clint's hungry gaze before angling his head to take his length into his mouth, licking and sucking at the hard, hot flesh.

“Yes,” Clint hissed out, the sight of Phil’s lips stretching around him and the feel of his warm, wet mouth sheathing his cock nearly making him come on the spot. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he rasped, unable to tear his eyes away.

Phil hummed in response, reaching up to rub his thumb over the mark he had left on Clint's hip as he sucked harder, wanting to feel the explosive end to Clint's need. There wasn’t time for technique now, just straightforward suction and friction, and that was all Clint needed just then.

He whimpered, his head falling back as his hips jerked, and then he was coming. A garbled cry that may have been Phil’s name fell from his lips, and his fingers flexed on Phil with each spasm.

The circuit completed between them again, and Phil gulped down each gout of semen, pulling back enough so that he could fully taste his sentinel. It wasn’t the same as how Clint tasted him, but it was still primal and visceral, searing Clint inside him.

When Clint shuddered, he pulled back, kissing the spot on his thigh before working his way upward again to smile down at the other man. "Perfect," he breathed before leaning in a reverse of the kiss Clint had given him earlier.

When the kiss finally ended, Clint raised a hand to cup Phil’s cheek, smiling softly. “We taste good together, Guide.”

"We taste perfect together," Phil answered as he tilted his head into Clint's caress.

“We are perfect together. I could happily spend the rest of my life right here with you.”

Phil's smile turned tender, and he pressed a kiss to Clint's palm. "I would do that as well, but the thought of Nick bursting through the door when we didn’t show up back at work is enough to terrify even me."

Clint had to laugh at that. “Yeah, that would definitely put a damper on things. Besides, we probably should eat at some point.”

"If we want to have energy for more rounds, most definitely, though I think just lying here together is going to feel just as good," Phil mused.

“I wasn’t planning to leap up this second,” Clint assured him, wrapping his arms around Phil to hold him close. Lying there together, every sense focused on his guide, Clint was happier than he’d ever been.

"Good thing or I might have had to incapacitate you." As he spoke, Phil shifted just enough to make them both more comfortable and rested his head on Clint's shoulder, nuzzling his face against his neck.

“This is the best way of keeping me here,” Clint said in a tone of lazy contentment. “I love the way you feel against me.”

"Good, then I don’t have to worry about you leaving," Phil agreed.

“You’d need a crowbar to get rid of me and an army to drag me out the door,” Clint assured him, the statement causing Phil to give a contented sigh.

"You really are perfect for me."

“In the interests of full disclosure, I have to admit to never having taken down a target with office supplies.”

"I'll make sure you have a back-up box of sharpened pencils so you can have the experience."

Clint burst into laughter, hugging Phil to him. “You’re such a nut.”

"You are the only person who has ever said that to me," Phil mused before snaking a hand between them to tickle Clint's ribs, making him squirm and grab Phil’s hand with a laugh.

“Clearly people need to be more observant,” he informed Phil before kissing the tip of his nose with a grin.

"People see what they want to see, even trained agents. You, my dear sentinel, are the exception to that rule."

Clint smirked. “Of course I’m exceptional. And so are you.” He linked his hands together at the small of Phil’s back, looking happy.

"And together we're phenomenal."

***

“Soo,” Clint said slowly from where he reclined on the neatly made bed, watching Phil knot his tie, “how do you want to play this at work? I mean I know nothing’s changed about our ranks or positions, but am I allowed to drop in just because I want to see you? Can I touch you?”

Phil looked up in the mirror, focusing on Clint, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. "Of course you are, to both of those questions. We're bonded; I would say that other than perhaps stripping our clothes off and having wild sex on the cafeteria tables, whatever makes us comfortable together is allowed."

Clint stared, momentarily nonplussed. “Wow, okay, didn’t see that coming. You have cafeteria fantasies?” He shook his head. “Right, we’ll revisit that later. I’ll have to make sure to visit you around some of the newbies, you know, the ones who have the weird robot theories about you?”

"Of course that could lead them to believing that I'm some kind of sex-bot which is altogether insane. LMDs are used for things other than that," Phil huffed before turning and winking at Clint. "Now then, Sentinel Barton, shall we begin our first day as an officially bonded pair?"

Clint was still sputtering sex-bot as they left.

And he started sputtering again when they arrived at Phil’s office and found paper garland featuring linked rings around the doorway.

"We don’t have authorization to kill them," Phil muttered as he opened the door to see the tackiest wedding cake imaginable centered on his desk. "But that doesn’t preclude maiming."

“Oh. My. God.” Clint circled Phil’s desk and the thing on it as if sizing up an enemy. “That’s horrific.”

"The idea that certain people spent their time and money looking for that is even more horrifying," Phil nodded as he studied the paste jewel-bedecked chains that encircled the white fondant that covered the three-tiered cake on his desk.

"Oh, but it's only the best for you, boys," Maria Hill said as she peered in the room. “Your reactions will make a lovely picture on your new IDs."

A suction-cup-tipped arrow stuck itself to the middle of her forehead.

"And this is why we let you lead, Maria," Melinda called from behind her as Jasper Sitwell voiced his agreement, causing Clint to glance toward him.

"You all do know that I know your home addresses," Phil said calmly as Maria peeled the suction cup off her skin.

“Yes, but you won’t want to leave your sentinel alone long enough to do anything to us,” Melinda pointed out sweetly.

“I’ll be right there helping him,” Clint assured them, once again regarding the white, silver and purple monstrosity in fascinated horror.

"If you take us all out, Fury is going to have kittens," Jasper pointed out.

"Yes, he will," the man in question growled. "Just what the hell is that?"

"A bonding gift from our good friends," Phil said straight-faced.

“That is the ugliest ass cake I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Fury informed them. “I’m surprised you haven’t shot it yet, Barton.”

“I’m afraid it might spawn two new cakes if I do.”

"It had better taste better than it looks because otherwise it's going to lead to a lot of food poisoning," Phil mused.

"Sitwell, try the damn cake," Fury growled.

“No one ever said anything about eating it,” Jasper grumbled before smirking at them all and cutting a piece of good devil’s food cake.

Clint watched him warily for a moment. “Well, he isn’t sprouting silver chains, so that’s something.”

"And so you know, we do have pictures of it," Maria said sweetly as more slices were cut and passed around.

Clint brandished another arrow at her.

“Stop shooting Hill, Barton, before she starts shooting back,” Fury ordered. “She only carries real bullets.”

"I'm sure the chains on the cake could deflect them, sir,” Phil said before cutting himself another piece as it was actually a very good cake.

“It would mess up your office, Phil, and more importantly the couch that Barton has claimed,” Melinda pointed out, making Clint chuckle.

“As if I’d let anything hit my couch. Not happening. Where would I nap then?”

“The vents?” Maria suggested dryly. “I’m fairly certain you actually lived in them for a while.”

"At least I won’t be losing any more guides because of Barton's rampages. And, Coulson, I've reassigned Morse to work with Mack, so that's resolved."

"Thank you, sir," Phil said easily as he walked over to Clint, a glint of humor lighting his eyes. "But as this is apparently our bonding cake…" he trailed off as he lifted a bite of the cake toward Clint's mouth, which quirked into a smile before his lips parted to eat it.

“That really is good,” he purred, looking into Phil’s eyes as he raised his own fork to offer his guide a bite in return.

"Yes, it is," Phil said quietly, staring into Clint's eyes as he licked the cake from the fork.

"Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?" Melinda mused to Maria, who snickered under her breath.

"Jealousy will get you nowhere," Clint informed them without looking away from Phil. "You have a crumb…" He leaned in to lick Phil's lower lip.

"And I'm out of here," Fury announced though he sounded more amused than anything as he turned and strode out of the office, shaking his head.

"Remember to lock the door if things get kinky in here!" Jasper added before following him.

"As if Phil would let me mess up his paperwork," Clint retorted laughingly just before the door shut behind Jasper. "Looks like you ladies are stronger than the guys… or is it just that you think we're hot together?" he added, grinning at Maria and Melinda.

"Or we think you're amusing," Maria commented, causing Phil to scowl at her.

"You are," Melinda added before he could say anything. "Adorable and amusing."

"Oh god, someone please shoot me now," Clint groaned. "You're both evil. We are _not_ cute." He shuddered and glared when that just made Maria smirk at him. "You know what, that uniform makes your ass look huge," he growled at her.

"No, it doesn't," she replied cheerfully. "It makes my ass look amazing."

"That's it, out!" Phil demanded, pointing at the door. "Thank you very much for the cake, but I have things to discuss with my sentinel."

"Things?" Melinda asked archly while Maria snickered.

"Yes, things not involving your ass."

"Just Barton's," the women chorused as they made their escape from the office, just out-pacing the suction cup arrows that hit the opposite wall.

“Your friends are horrible,” Clint informed Phil.

"They're your friends too," Phil pointed out. "If it makes you feel any better, just think of what Morse is going to do when she finds out."

Clint’s groan was heartfelt, and he dropped onto the sofa, covering his eyes with a forearm. “Can I go back to the Army where people just want to shoot at me?”

"No chance of that." Phil sat down beside him and pulled Clint into his arms. "Besides, in the Army there's less privacy to do this."

“You make a very good point,” Clint agreed, twisting so he was practically in Phil’s lap and looking very happy to be there.

"Of course I do," Phil murmured as he wrapped his arms around Clint's waist. "I’m your guide."

“I think most people would take that as a sign of your insanity, not infallibility,” Clint pointed out with a wry quirk to his lips.

“Most people are idiots,” Phil mused, leaning in to nuzzle the side of Clint’s throat.

“Mmm, can we stay in here all day while you do that?” Clint asked, practically purring.

Phil shrugged and shifted his attention to the hollow below Clint’s ear. “I don’t see why not; it is our first day back, and we just did have our bonding cake…”

Clint whimpered softly, but he managed to say, “Then we should probably lock the door.”

“I’ll do that and disable the security video,” Phil murmured. “You can lose your clothes, and we’ll christen the office properly.”

“I love your plans.” Clint had half his clothes off before Phil had taken two steps, and he looked over his shoulder, watching Phil as he finished undressing and draped himself over the couch facing Phil, one knee drawn up and leaning against the back, his other foot falling down to the floor. The chill of the air conditioning had his nipples drawn up as if beckoning to Phil.

After the proper precautions had been taken, Phil turned, having known that he needed to get everything done before he looked up at Clint. The sight that greeted him from the worn sofa on the side of his office had him swallowing hard and a distinct bulge rising in his pants.   “Gorgeous and all mine,” he murmured, watching the way Clint was displaying himself, the knowledge that he was still fully dressed and Clint naked affecting him viscerally.

“Right back at you,” Clint replied, lazily stroking his cock as he watched Phil hungrily. “Everything about you is perfect, Guide.”

“That includes you.” Phil strode forward as he spoke, ending up between Clint’s spread legs and looming over him. “I want to take you over my desk, Sentinel. I’ve wanted you over it since we first met.”

A full body shiver wracked Clint, and he licked his lips, his eyes heavy lidded as he stared up at his guide. “I’ve wanted that too. What the hell took us so long?” He pushed to his feet, ending up pressed against Phil when he didn’t move back.

“We were both too blind to see what was in front of us, but we aren’t now, so we’re going to grab it with both hands.”

“How ‘bout you grab me with both hands?” Clint suggested, unable to resist.

“Get your ass over to my desk and I will,” Phil growled though he didn’t back up an inch, wanting the rub of Clint’s body against his, which he got as Clint pressed against him, grabbing Phil’s ass on the way by.

“Should I just shove the papers out of my way?” Clint asked, grinning at Phil over his shoulder.

“We’ve been out for two days; everyone knows we bonded–nothing on that desk is important including the rest of that cake.”

“I’m not lying on the ugly ass cake!”

“But it tastes good and so do you; I wouldn’t mind licking it off your ass,” Phil said bluntly.

Clint hesitated, then yanked the chains off the cake and tossed them in the garbage. “At least that’s a little better and won’t kill my boner.” He stretched out over the desk, grabbing hold of the far side. “But if you want it on my ass, you have to put it there.”

Phil smirked and ran one hand over the body in part in question as he grabbed the cake and smeared it on his ass. “Hold on tight, Sentinel Barton; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“Well, get to riding then,” Clint demanded, arching his back to push his ass out. “I want to glut my senses on you.”

“Dial up your touch, I want you writhing,” Phil ordered as he dropped to his knees and bit at the cake on Clint’s ass.

“Oh fuck,” Clint moaned. He jerked as the bite echoed through him with his sense of touch dialed up almost to the max, something he wouldn’t dare do without Phil to ground him. “Feels so good,” he rasped, his cock rigid and tight against his belly.

Phil hummed in response, knowing that Clint would hear him, and shifted enough to bite the other cheek, swiping his tongue over the sweet-covered flesh after his teeth caught in the firm flesh.

“Don’t stop,” Clint whimpered, his fingers clenching hard on the edge of the desk.

“Going to take you apart and put you back together again,” Phil whispered as he dragged his hands up the inside of Clint’s thighs.

“Yes.” Clint gave up trying to talk, simply spreading his legs more, offering himself to his bondmate, and Phil accepted him greedily. He stroked his way up to Clint’s balls while slowly cleaning the cake from his body, gradually working his way in toward his hole.

Clint’s head dropped to the desk, his eyes shut as he focused on the sensation of Phil’s hands and mouth on him. His emotions spilled over to Phil, who dove in, spearing his hole with his tongue even as he pressed a thumb against the back of Clint’s balls.

“Fuck!” Clint nearly wailed, his ass pushing up to meet Phil’s mouth, every inch of him begging for more.

Phil smiled against him and pressed his tongue in again, loosening the tight circle of muscle he was probing.

“God, Phil, not going to last,” Clint panted, the sensations almost overwhelming.

“So come,” Phil whispered, knowing that Clint would hear him. “You will again before we’re done.”

As if on command, Clint did, gasping out Phil’s name again as he came, the sensation of Phil’s tongue pressing into his ass drawing his orgasm out till he shoved a hand against his own mouth to muffle a scream.

Once the tremors that shook Clint’s body had stopped, Phil moved from his crouch to plaster himself over his sentinel’s back, not caring that the move smeared the leftover cake against his pants. “I’ve wanted you like this forever,” he murmured, his breath hot against Clint’s neck.

“Any time, any way you want me,” Clint whispered, turning his head to seek a kiss, which Phil gave gladly.

“Comfortable?” he asked once their lips drew apart.

“Except for wanting you in me!”

“Considering I don’t think either of us want to use cake as lube, you’re just going to have to give me a moment for that,” Phil chuckled, his voice carrying a hungry edge with it. Pulling back slightly, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small packet of lube, leaning in to nip at Clint’s shoulder as he tore it open and spilled it out over his fingers.

“No, no cake lube,” Clint agreed with a shudder, chuckling. “Somehow Melinda or Maria would find out.” He shivered when Phil’s now slick finger breached him, and he tightened involuntarily, enjoying the sensation.

“Babe, do not mention Melinda and Maria while we’re having sex,” Phil ordered though his tone was laughing. “Otherwise there will be no sex.”

“Now that’s a horrible thing to say to your sentinel. I may have to report you,” Clint retorted.

“To Fury?” The question was accompanied by Phil crooking his finger so that he could stroke Clint’s prostate, making the sentinel cry out before he could answer.

“He’d just blackmail us. No, to the Sentinel-Guide Council.”

“So you’re going to report me to the Council because your comment took away my erection?”

“No, because you’re threatening to withhold sex and deprive your sentinel.” Clint smirked over his shoulder at Phil, who crooked his finger again, making Clint whimper.

“Because your comment took away my erection.”

Clint reached back to cup Phil’s groin. “Feels pretty hard to me. So get it in me!”

“Rather hard to do with my pants on,” Phil drawled.

“Well, then take your fucking pants off!” Clint groaned. “I’d do it myself, but someone’s intent on driving me crazy.”

Phil chuckled and reached down to undo his belt and trousers, pushing them down enough to free his cock without removing his finger from Clint’s ass.

Clint looked over his shoulder, heavy lidded eyes drinking in Phil’s fully clad form. “That’s so hot,” he rasped.

“I’ve never been so happy to ruin a suit in my life,” Phil promised as he slid his finger back so that he could slick his cock up. With Clint still watching, he set himself at Clint’s entrance and slowly pushed forward, pressing the sentinel between himself and the desk.

“Love feeling you in me, love you,” Clint whispered, his back arching to take Phil deeper.

“My perfect partner. Love you as well.” Phil began to move as he spoke, his voice rasping in Clint’s ear.

Clint grabbed Phil’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and he turned his head toward Phil’s neck, inhaling his scent.

“I can feel that you’re getting hard again,” Phil rasped, leaning into Clint’s face and slowly moving his hips.

“So make me come for you,” Clint demanded before his tongue flicked out to taste the salty flavor of Phil’s skin.

“In time, in time.”

“Are you going for an endurance record?”

“It’s been five minutes, hardly a record.”

Clint snorted. “You just want to make me crazy.”

Phil chuckled as he drove into Clint again. “I love you when you’re crazy.”

“Good thing since that’s most of the time,” Clint replied once he caught his breath and could speak again.

“Love it when you drive me crazy too,” Phil promised as he caught Clint’s hips so that he could pound into him.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Clint repeated mindlessly, letting everything go except Phil.

Phil shuddered, the sensations of his sentinel’s emotions rushing over him. The feeling broke the last of his control, and he slammed forward, driving into Clint’s tight body again and again, needing to feel him come again before he did as well.

“Yes,” Clint whimpered, bracing his arms and arching his back so he was almost standing, only his hips still bent over the desk now. His upper body pressed back against Phil’s chest, and his mouth opened to bite down on Phil’s neck, just shy of breaking the skin.

“Jesus fuck, Clint, bite me,” Phil rasped, his whole body going taut with their combined need.

Clint let go and twisted and tilted his head enough to meet Phil’s eyes, searching the vivid blue depths. Finding what he sought, he leaned in and bit down again.

Phil let out a high pitched whine and his whole body shuddered as he pumped his climax into his bonded’s body. Clint shivered and whined, enjoying Phil’s climax as much as he had his own. He flexed his ass, drawing every drop of pleasure from Phil.

“Need you to come too,” Phil murmured, reaching around Clint to get his hand around the other man’s cock and stroking it in the rhythm he had learned Clint preferred.

“God, yes, please,” Clint groaned, thrusting into Phil’s hand while glutting his senses on his guide. He could smell him, them, feel, see, hear and taste him, every sense engaged as his body tensed, edging toward another climax.

“Yes, let go,” Phil rasped as he ducked his head to cover Clint’s mouth with his.

Clint could only moan Phil’s name as he came, everything narrowing down to his guide and pleasure.

“Amazing,” Phil whispered as Clint shuddered beneath him then sagged against his desk, sending a few more pieces of paper to the floor.

“Us together? Yeah, I know.” Clint still held one of Phil’s hands and showed no sign of letting go anytime soon.

Phil smiled and nodded against Clint’s shoulder as he slowly eased the hand that had jacked him off up to his belly so he could rub the taut washboard of his abs.

“Stay,” Clint whispered, not wanting to lose the comfort of Phil wrapped around him yet.

“Of course.”

Clint turned his head where it lay against the desk and smiled at Phil. “Think anyone would notice if we curled up on the sofa and took a nap?”

“I’m sure that they’ve noticed that the door is locked, so the answer to that is yes,” Phil said with a shrug. “Do you want to shift to the sofa?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to lose you yet.”

“Mmm, so we wait then as long as you’re comfortable.”

“Very comfortable.” Clint smiled lazily at him. “I like you in me.”

“It’s a wonderful place to be though I don’t think we can stay here forever.”

The intercom clicked on. “Clean up that fucking desk and get your asses covered. I want this goddamn Black Widow stopped.”

“Seriously, Nick?” Phil demanded just before a knock sounded at the door. “If that’s Hill with fresh clothes for us, I can’t be responsible for what we’re going to do.”   “It’s not Hill, it’s Morse. Don’t traumatize her,” Fury growled.

“I hate my fucking life,” Clint grumbled. “Or at least my boss. Can’t we talk to HR, Phil? This has to be harassment.”

“Who do you think signs HR’s paychecks?” Phil sighed, pressing a kiss between Clint’s shoulder blades before slowly peeling back off of him. 

“That’s damn right,” Fury said smugly. “Now get your asses cleaned up and dressed and get on the plane to Budapest.”


End file.
